He slung the sacks over one shoulder, one in front and one behind, and hoisted the tools on to the other. “I am younger than the horse.” Something in his eyes persuaded her to humor him. “It is good to be strong,” she said. And Martin felt strangely happy. She mounted, and they went down to the ford. Mellis rode in to show the way, and Martin splashed after her, planting his feet carefully, for the bottom was full of pebbles. She looked back. “Remember the flour.” For the first time he saw a gleam of laughter in her eyes, a glimmer of sweet youthfulness. “It shall come to no harm,” he answered, smiling back, and thinking her the most beautiful thing in the world. _Chapter XIX_ The day was far spent when they came to the valley in the heart of the woods where the ruined house of the Dales stood on that white blossoming island in the midst of the water. Mellis had dismounted half a league from the ford, and had refused to go forward until Martin had loaded the baggage again on the horse’s back. “I am rested,” she had said, “and your strength is precious. Let the beast bear the burden for which he was born.” Martin Valliant had to hide the vivid memories of yesterday, but as he stood at Mellis’s side on the edge of the beech wood and looked down upon Woodmere, he could but marvel at the strangeness of life. Here was he beside her, her comrade in arms, an outlaw, a man who had thrown the future into the melting-pot of fate. And as he watched a world of tenderness and yearning swim into her eyes, his soul stood stoutly to its outlawry. His muscles were made to serve her, and he thanked God for his strength. “That was our home.” She looked long at it, her lips trembling, her bosom rising and falling with emotion. “Gilbert will never see it again. We used to draw pictures in France, and in his fancy the apple trees were always pink and white, just as they are now.” Martin could find no words to utter. He wanted to touch her, to make her feel that he understood. But she broke loose from these sad thoughts, rallied herself to face the fiercer issue. “The valley looks empty.” They scanned it keenly. “Not a soul.” “They will not leave us in peace for very long, and the hours will be precious. Come.” Martin shut his eyes for a moment. He could not forget that vision of her with her dark hair clouding about her body. But the vision was sacred. “You see, the bridge is broken.” He had to pretend his innocence. “And there is no boat?” “It is rotting in the mud.” They went down to the water’s edge, and Martin tied the horse to one of the willows. He paid homage to her forethought in the bringing of those tools. “We shall have to build a bridge.” Already she was pushing her way through the scrub, and Martin followed her. There were two gaps to be dealt with, one where the arch had fallen, and a second where the drawbridge should have served. “The trunks of a few young trees thrown across.”